


drowning in a sea of memories

by jupiterrism



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Gen, Light Angst, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterrism/pseuds/jupiterrism
Summary: For all Sancaka claims that he's made peace with his past, he still longs for his long-gone family.
Relationships: Sancaka & Wulan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	drowning in a sea of memories

Sancaka wakes up with a gasp.

He's met with a blank ceiling, marks of smoke staining the corners and for a moment, all he can think of is his old home, demolished flat against the ground. It's raining again; the flash of lightning outside his window is nothing but soothing to him: Sancaka has made peace with them, feels electricity thrumming under his skin.

With a sigh, Sancaka scrubs a hand over his face. It's one of those dreams, burning an imprint behind his closed lids. It has been decades but he can still _feel_ his father's rapidly cooling body under his touch, the coppery stench of blood meeting puddles of rain on the ground, and pain, hot-white pain running through him.

He remembers betrayal, he was old enough to understand how people will stoop low to _live_ , and he's angry, however misdirected. Rage died a long time ago, after Pengkor, but the dream brought old wounds back to the surface. Determination rises in place of unbridled anger but times like this… Sancaka wonders if things could play out differently for him, for his family who is long gone. 

Sancaka inhales a shaky breath to calm his hammering heart. He's trembling, he realizes after one moment, a fine tremor in his hand when he lifts it up. His throat is hot with grief and shame tangled into a huge ball, slowly drifting towards an uncharted territory called 'feelings' and Sancaka swears he's made peace with his past, but as Wulan has said, healing is not linear.

With a sigh, he pushes himself to his feet, each step towards the bathroom feels like it's dragged out of his body. Sancaka is _tired_ , especially so after the nightmares, and how do you sleep when you know you're going to wake up even more exhausted?

Cold water is a wake-up call. He gasps as the water hits the skin and he… pauses, when his eyes land on the mirror above the sink. Sancaka is never a fan of mirrors. It's not like he hates his face, no, but sometimes, there were ghosts staring back at him. Overlapping images of his parents looked back at him in the past, and it _hurt,_ so Sancaka didn't bother to look at himself in the mirror.

But now, it's different. It's been decades, Sancaka muses, his fingers are touching his reflection. He digs into his memories, trying to find what's left from his past, and… none, he finds none of it. Sancaka blinks, baffled, and—

A knock on the door. "Sancaka?"

It's Wulan, and while hearing her voice loosen up some knots inside his chest, Sancaka still… can't.

But he takes a deep breath and slides the door open, eyes landing on the wary but curious look on Wulan's face. She's always so open with her expression and feelings, and Sancaka always takes joy in noting every one of them.

"You look pale," Wulan says, never beating around the bush yet not quite tactless. She's soft around her hard edges, concern clear in her voice. "What happened?"

Sancaka merely shakes his head, not trusting his voice yet. But Wulan narrows her eyes, seemingly looking through his facade and presses on, "Are you sick? Was it about yesterday? The fight must have—"

"I can't remember my father's face."

His voice is hoarse, rough even to his own ears, and Sancaka catches the shift on Wulan's facade, the lines on her face grow softer at his statement—confession.

It's been decades, and maybe it's the effect of getting his head slammed against the ground every time he goes on patrols, but Sancaka was old enough when his father died, surely there is something—

Sancaka remembers gentle touches on his head, faint and distant murmur of his wise words: a reminder to fight for humanity. He remembers rain washing down his face, his mother's cries, his father's funeral a mere blur. But none of his memories contains his father's face.

He remembers his mother's face, but that's only because he's got her picture in his wallet. But Sancaka doesn't remember her voice, her kiss, the taste of the food she made after he got home from school. It feels like they are now a distant hum in the background, buried deep inside his subconscious self. His chest aches with something he doesn't understand; 'longing', 'yearning': Sancaka misses his family with a burning intensity, and his self-control is what keeps him from breaking down sobbing.

Wulan knows, of course she knows. She steers Sancaka back to his couch and after a moment, Sancaka feels a cup is pushed into his hands. Tea, hot enough to sting his skin even though the ceramic mug. He smiles at Wulan, a small twitch of his lips, and he's immensely grateful that Wulan returns the smile.

"I can't remember my mother's voice," Sancaka continues, tongue thick inside his mouth from the way the tea is scalding hot. He runs his thumb over the chipped ceramic, blinking rapidly and inhaling a shaky breath.

A warm hand over his forearm brings him back to present time. His gaze meets Wulan's concerned one, the startling intensity in her eyes pushing the tension out of his body.

"Tell me about your family, please, anything you remember," she asks, pleads, and Sancaka complies though he doubts that he could recall his memories about his family.

He can and he does; it all flows without a pause, and Wulan is there, listening to his rambles with a smile on her face. Sometimes she laughs, she asks questions, but never imposing, only paying attention.

When Sancaka is done, his throat hurts but his heart is lighter, joy and sadness has joined into one, ever-present in him. Wulan pats his forearm again, sending him a soft smile, and she murmurs softly.

"I don't know how does it feel to _not_ remembering your own family," she starts, and Sancaka understands: Wulan's got her own family, and she's got Teddy, "but I know that they're always be close to you, no matter how far they are."

"Their thoughts live in you, Sancaka. Your father's determination on making things _right_ and your mother's bravery; they're in _you_ , they're the reason why you're wearing your armor," she nods towards his helmet, hidden inside a cabinet.

"Your parents made you the _hero_ that you are now." Sancaka mulls over the word ' _hero_ ', and he sees that Wulan tests the word as if it's something foreign. (It is).

"They must be very proud of you, you're everything they strived for," Wulan hums, eyes bright with tears at the end of her speech, and for once, Sancaka believes in her. He doesn't believe in a lot of things, but in Wulan, he puts his trust.

Sancaka opens his mouth to voice his gratitude, but only a chuckle comes out, relieved and so very exhausted.

"Thank you," he says after a moment, grasping her hand in his. They hold hand for a while, before a blush rises up on Wulan's cheeks and Sancaka obediently releases his grip before Wulan could berate him.

"You're welcome," she responds, scrunching her nose up, and already heading towards his kitchen. "Breakfast? I know you didn't have dinner last night."

Sancaka concedes, agreeing. "Yes, breakfast," he says quickly, not quite up for a banter.

Sancaka still misses his family, his dead father and his long-gone mother but he's got a family now, never a replacement for those who are gone but an addition that he holds close to his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> i missed writing things lol anyway i got this idea from a kakashi fanart [tears] the downside of being a superhero i guess, they be having shit tons of issues and it hits them once theyre not doing super hero things. sancaka forgot that hes just a human, sometimes, and when he remembers, all he can feel is bone-deep exhaustion


End file.
